


Pens and Pencils

by SixtySevenChevy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Human AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixtySevenChevy/pseuds/SixtySevenChevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam may have just met the strangest man ever. And given him his last pencil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted on Tumblr and got carried away. I have no idea what this is, but it's cute.

Sam sighs and fishes around in his bag for another pencil. He’s really hoping he has another one. Seeing as it’s at the end of the semester, right before summer, he doubts it. It never hurts to try, though.

He pulls out a pen and counts it as a victory, going back to scribbling notes in his notebook. All of the things he’ll need to study tonight are written in neat, straight columns down the center of the page. He frowns down at his notebook; he’s going to need a new one soon. This one is almost empty. In fact, he’s had it for so long that there are still notes on hunting in the front, and Dean’s phone number scrawled on the cover.

“Hey,” someone whispers. Sam turns around, eyes searching, and meets the gaze of a short man in flannel pajamas. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

“Sorry,” Sam whispers back. “I don’t have another one.”

The man pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Could you look?” he begs, eyes darting from Sam to the professor and back. Sam bites his bottom lip. He reaches into his bag, fingers searching for anything wooden and cylindrical, and pricks himself on the wooden stake he still keeps in the bottom. Reflexively yanking his hand back, he pulls a pencil from the depths.

Sam stares in surprise at the pencil before handing it to the pajama-clad man behind him. The man flashes him a quick grin and scribbles something on a napkin, leaving Sam to turn back around in his seat and wonder just where that pencil came from.

He dismisses it. Weirder things have happened to him, after all.

XXXXX

Sam coughs, wrinkling his nose at all the dust. He runs his fingers over the spines of books, searching for the right one. It’s been a long time since he was in such a dusty library so late at night, but he doesn’t mind. It’s only two in the morning, after all. Most college kids aren’t even home by now.

There’s a loud thud from behind, and Sam turns on his heel, hand going immediately to his pocket. He nearly pulls out his knife, but manages to stop himself from stabbing the man in front of him.

It’s the same guy who borrowed—and never returned—his pencil in class that morning. He must have dropped a book, seeing as he’s staring forlornly at an encyclopedia that rests at his feet. He looks up and meets Sam’s eyes, whispering, “Now I’m gonna have to pick it up. I’m going to have to expend effort.” He sounds horrified.

“Sorry,” Sam says, for lack of better things to say. 

The other man smirks at him and bends at the waist to pick up his encyclopedia. He’s really flexible, too. He doesn’t even bend his knees and just folds himself in half. When he straightens back up, he catches Sam’s eye and raises his eyebrows suggestively. Sam tries to close his mouth, or at least stop staring.

“I’m Sam,” Sam says, holding out a hand.

“Gabe,” the other man says, ignoring the hand. “And I have to go. See you later, Sammy.”

Sam watches him saunter out of the library, and notices that Gabe isn’t wearing shoes. He’s still wearing his flannel pajamas, too, and has at least a dozen pens sticking out of the back pocket. Wherever he’s going, Sam isn’t sure he wants to know what he’ll be doing there.

XXXXX

Sam wakes up at noon the next morning, freezing cold in his empty apartment. The heater broke last week, and even though it’s summer in California, it’s cold as balls. Sam drags himself, shivering, out of bed and to the shower, where he stands under the hot water for far too long. He puts on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and doesn’t bother with his hair. He hasn’t got anywhere to go today.

The kitchen is only slightly warmer than his room, but he doesn’t really mind. He’s spent too long in heater-less motel rooms to really notice a slight chill anymore.

He makes a pot of coffee and settles down to read the newspaper, skimming the headlines, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He stops himself halfway through. He’ll never get rid of the habit if he keeps it up like this.

Sam sighs and runs a hand through his damp hair. Maybe he should get out more.

Just as he’s thinking that, the doorbell rings. Sam folds the newspaper up and grabs a kitchen knife off the counter, padding quietly to the front door. He opens it cautiously, holding the knife out of sight. “Yeah?”

Gabe smirks up at him from the porch, golden eyes gleaming. “Hey! I didn’t know you lived here!”

Sam drops the knife onto the table he keeps by the door for keys. He opens the door wide enough to slip out, and joins Gabe on the splintery wood of the porch. “What are you doing here?” he asks. He winces internally at how impatient he sounded. It would be just his luck to have a cute guy delivered onto his porch, just to be rude until said cute guy leaves in disgust.

“My car broke down. I was going to ask to use a phone,” Gabe says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I can take a look,” Sam offers, very conscious of how ratty his clothes are. He hurries to make up an excuse as to why he’s wearing them. (Although, if he thought about it, he’d realize that a man who wears flannel pajamas to class wouldn’t care.) “I was just about to go jogging, but I can try to fix it.”

Gabe nods, skeptical. Sam tries to smile at him, but his stomach is flip-flopping. He knows next to nothing about cars. He’s pretty sure that if a car is broken down, it’s out of his league. Although, he could simply hotwire it… No, that would only scare Gabe off. 

“Come on, then,” Gabe teases, and turns on his heel. He saunters down the steps—swinging his hips way more than he should be—and Sam follows. Gabe comes to a stop next to a shiny red pickup truck that completely contrasts with his personality. “This is the Monster.

 

Sam huffs a laugh and decides to take a look under the hood, even though the only car he’s ever actually worked on was the Impala, which is very different from this shiny behemoth. Even though this is a Chevy too, they’re completely different.

“So, Sam,” Gabe says, leaning against the truck and staring thoughtfully at Sam. “What are you here for?”

Sam shrugs as he stares into the depths of the truck. “Pre-law.”

Gabe whistles. “Nice.”

Sam thinks he knows what’s wrong with the truck. He reaches into it, wincing as he gets his hand coated in black grime, and jiggles a cable. Hopefully, that’ll give the truck enough time for Gabe to drive to a proper mechanic. 

“Start the engine,” Sam orders, slamming the hood shut. Gabe obeys, swinging his small body up into the cab gracefully—which shouldn’t even be possible—and turns the key in the ignition. The truck roars to life, and Gabe lets out a triumphant whoop. Sam comes around to the window, grinning. “There. Just get to a mechanic as soon as possible, and you should be fine.”

Gabe laughs. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam nods and bites his bottom lip, wondering if he should ask for Gabe’s number or not. As it happens, he doesn’t have to. Gabe asks for his first. Well, technically it’s more like an order, but Sam doesn’t really mind.

“Give me your phone number,” Gabe says. He produces a pen from somewhere in the truck and holds it out to Sam, who scrawls the digits on Gabe’s hand. Gabe flashes him a blinding smile and puts the truck in drive, tearing away before Sam can say anything else.

Sam goes back in the house, only a little bit confused.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam is in bed when the phone rings. He groans and presses his face deeper into the pillow, wanting nothing more than to keep sleeping. Whoever is calling will call back, hopefully when the sun is up and it’s not the middle of the night.

But then Sam freezes and stops breathing. It might be Dean.

He lunges for the phone and doesn’t bother to read the caller ID before he answers. “What?”

“Touchy,” the voice on the other end coos. “Heya, Sammy.”

Sam’s jaw works, but no sound comes out. He finally glances at the clock, and for lack of better things to say, simply reports his findings into the receiver. “It’s three in the morning,” says, voice thick with sleep.

Gabe laughs. “Aren’t you a college student? Aren’t we supposed to be nocturnal?”

“I need sleep sometimes, Gabe,” Sam grumbles, flopping back onto the bed. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to keep awake long enough to have a conversation. It would be just his luck to fall asleep right in the middle of a phone call. 

“No you don’t,” Gabe insists. “Anyway, I was wondering what you were doing right now.”

Sam’s pretty sure he heard wrong. “Right now?”

“No time like the present,” Gabe sings. He sobers up a bit to say, “Can you come get me? My truck isn’t working.”

For the first time Sam notices shouting in the background. There’s a thud as something breaks, and Gabe sucks in a surprised breath. “Please,” he says, and some of the bravado is gone this time, replaced with desperation. “I know we just met but… please.”

“Yeah, just give me the address,” Sam says. 

Gabe reads off the address and Sam hangs up, promising to come get him as soon as possible. He doesn’t ask questions. Sam understands family problems more than just about anyone else out there, and no one can possibly argue with him on that.

He pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, quickly grabbing his keys and cell phone off the nightstand. He shoves his bare feet into a pair of tennis shoes and doesn’t bother locking the door behind him as he jogs out to the curb and starts up his car. 

It takes ten minutes to get to the street Gabe specified. The house isn’t hard to find. All of the lights are on, music is blaring from one of the upstairs windows, and there is shouting coming from the living room. Sam parks down the street a bit and jogs up to the house, unsure if he should knock or not. 

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to. Gabe is sitting on the porch already, looking rather lost and alone. Sam sits next to him without a word, and listens to the fighting going on inside.

“Dad isn’t coming home, Michael! He left us!”

“I know! Why do you think I’m trying so hard to keep us together?”

“Maybe because most of us are college students who can’t afford to live separately?”

“I swear, Luke, one more word and I’ll—”

Gabe shudders out a breath and stands, walking soundlessly to Sam’s waiting car. Sam follows him, wondering if the people in the house even know he’s gone. He doubts it. When he and Dad used to go at it, Dean would slip out and run off, and neither of them noticed he’d left until he came back. 

Gabe doesn’t say a word until they’re halfway to Sam’s apartment. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and contemplative. “They’re usually nice people, you know.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, but he has a hard time believing that.

“They are,” Gabe insists. “Michael, the oldest, tries to protect us all, but he can be way too overbearing. Luke, the second oldest, gets fed up with him sometimes. Since there are seven of us all living together, it can get a little explosive.”

“I understand,” Sam says, because he does.

Gabe snorts. “I’m just glad you came and got me. Considering I met you yesterday, I didn’t think you would.”

“I know how much arguing can take out of you,” Sam murmurs. Gabe hums in agreement, and they fall silent. It takes a minute for Sam to realize he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go. “Um, I don’t actually know where you want me to take you,” he announces.

“Just keep driving. I’ll give you money for gas,” Gabe says. 

They sit in silence for a while, and it’s Sam who breaks the solemn silence. “So, you’ve got six siblings?”

Gabe laughs. “Yeah. In order from oldest to youngest, there’s Michael, Luke, Raphael, me, Balthazar, Castiel, and Anna. We live in the same house since we’re mostly in college-except for Anna—and none of us can afford to get our own place. My dad skipped out on us last year.”

“I know how that is,” Sam admits. “My brother raised me.”

“My brothers raised me, and then I raised my brothers and sister,” Gabe says. “We’re all named after angels, did you know?”

Sam laughs. From what he heard, they’re far from angelic. Then again, he’s been hunting monsters all his life, so he’s not really one to judge other people’s families. “Really?”

“Yeah. Luke is technically named for a prophet, and Anna is actually named Anael. We call my dad God sometimes, since we’re his children. He was also a manipulative bastard.” Gabe puts a bit more venom in the last sentence than necessary, but Sam doesn’t point it out.

“So your real name would be Gabriel, then,” Sam observes. Gabe nods. “My family is smaller, but we’re messed up too. My mom died when I was a baby—house fire—and my dad went nuts. He would drag me and my brother all over the country, doing weird jobs for people. Me and him never got along.”

“Toast to shitty parenting,” Gabriel calls. Sam laughs and raises an imaginary glass. Gabe giggles, and it’s got to be one of the cutest sounds Sam has ever heard.

“I actually had to run away to get to go to college,” Sam says.

“I had to call a near-stranger in the dead of night to kidnaps me,” Gabe counters. Somehow, it becomes a twisted game of one-upmanship that quickly escalates into a game of Whose Family Sucks Most, which they happily play for as long as possible.

“I could shoot a gun by the time I was five.”

“My brother Luke once burned our house down, and we had to buy another one.”

“My dad spent most of his time drunk.”

“I haven’t seen my dad in two years.”

“I never had a mom.”

“I never had a mom either.”

“I had to sleep in dirty motel rooms my entire life.”

“I have to share a room with two of my brothers.”

“I carry a knife everywhere I go because my dad made me so paranoid.”

“I killed a man!”

“I killed ten men!”

They dissolve into laughter, the darkness having been dispelled for the time being. Sam looks fondly over at Gabriel, who is starting back at him. Their eyes meet for a second, and Gabe wets his lips. “Pull the car over.”

Sam obeys, and Gabriel lunges at him, catching his lips and kissing him frantically. Sam doesn’t protest; he just pulls the shorter man closer. It doesn’t take long for them to both be out of breath, laughing hysterically, pressed as close together as is possible in a car without bench seats.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, pulling back a bit.

“Don’t be,” Sam replies, kissing him once more. He thinks he could get used to this. Actually, scratch that, he _will_ get used to this. Because there’s no way he’s letting this adorable, tiny, strange man get away.

Gabriel hums and kisses him back.

XXXXX

Sam wakes up the next morning in his bed, alone, and rolls over. He strains his hearing for any sigh that Gabriel is still here, but he doesn’t hear anything. Sighing, Sam gets out of bed.

There’s a note on the table, scrawled in pencil. _Thanks, and call me. Gabe._

Sam’s pencil, the one that started this whole thing, is taped to the paper.


End file.
